


Rites of Friendship and Love

by msraven



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:44:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msraven/pseuds/msraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Clint and Phil celebrated and one time Phil knew why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rites of Friendship and Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ralkana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/gifts).



> An early birthday present for [Ralkana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana). I hope you have an awesome, stupendous birthday!! ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
> 
> (Note: I may have tweaked/smooshed the MCU timeline a bit to make it fit. *shrugs*)

**1\. The First Year**

There’s a light rap on the door and Phil looks up to find his newest asset standing just inside his office. Phil waves him into his office and waits to see which incarnation of the man has come to see him. 

“Sir,” he greets, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him.

 _Barton then_ , Phil thinks. 

In the past nine months of working with Clint Barton - six since becoming the archer’s official handler - Phil has learned that the asset regularly portrays two very distinct personas: Hawkeye and Barton. Hawkeye is the one most people see - arrogant, mouthy, sarcastic, and often on the edge of insubordination. Barton only emerges when in the presence of people he trusts, a distinction Phil isn’t sure how he earned, but doesn’t take for granted and hopes to never betray. Barton is the epitome of a great soldier - respectful, calm under fire, follows orders without question, and providing input that has placed him, in Phil’s view, within the top five tactical strategists Phil has ever worked with. 

The talk around SHIELD is that Coulson “tamed the Hawk”, but Phil knows that Fury earned Barton’s respect long before he had. It was Barton that Fury had recruited after all, not Hawkeye - or perhaps despite of Hawkeye. With some gentle guidance from Phil, both Agents Sitwell and Hill were slowly earning that same level of respect as Fury. Phil somehow understood that the level of respect he had earned is and always will be on a level higher than anyone else. He selfishly plans to ensure that never changes. Barton is, after all, the best asset SHIELD has ever recruited. 

“Was there something you needed, Specialist?” Phil asks when Barton doesn’t immediately speak up.

“Yes, sir. I, uh...” Barton drops his gaze and then looks at a spot on the wall just over Phil’s shoulder. Phil frowns, realizing that his asset is nervous, uncomfortable in a way that Phil has never witnessed before.

“I was hoping you could recommend a restaurant nearby, sir,” Barton continues, still not looking at Phil. “I have no additional training planned until the morning and was in the mood to eat out.”

Phil’s frown deepens when he realizes what Barton isn’t telling him. “Specialist, are you telling me that, in the entire time you’ve been with SHIELD, you’ve never eaten outside HQ?”

“Aside from ops, no sir,” Barton confirms. “Didn’t see the need.”

Phil has to work to keep the shock off his face. He knows that Hawkeye has made friends within SHIELD and naturally assumed that the asset had joined in on the various ways the other agents and specialists socialized outside of HQ. 

“Then I know the perfect place for us to go,” Phil says as he stands and grabs his jacket off the back of his chair.

“Sir?” Barton asks, clearly confused and finally meeting Phil’s eyes. 

Phil smiles back, relaxed and genuinely looking forward to having dinner with Barton. The specialists blinks back at him in surprise - maybe Barton isn’t the only one with multiple personas.

“There’s a great diner a few blocks from here that serves the best cheeseburgers I’ve ever tasted,” Phil tells him. He walks to the door, opens it, and motions for Barton to precede him. He strides briskly down the hallway and doesn’t give the archer an opportunity to question his actions. “I found it by chance a few years ago.”

Phil removes his tie and unbuttons his collar once they’re outside HQ, hoping to convey to Barton that he is not turning this into a work dinner. They walk down to the diner with Phil telling Barton about other nearby restaurants while the younger man remains cautiously silent. Phil is happy to see that Barton’s shoulders have loosened by the time they reach the diner and has to contain his smile when the archer finally starts contributing to the conversation. 

Time passes quickly - talk of food leads to talk of travel and to some of their more memorable experiences over the years. Barton proves to be an energetic storyteller and Phil finds himself laughing at the archer’s past antics, hoping that at least some of what he’s relaying is exaggerated. Phil manages to tell a few interesting stories of his own and considers it an accomplishment when Barton nearly spits coffee laughing over Sitwell’s first assignment undercover.

“Was there something special about today that made you decide to make a foray out of HQ?” Phil asks as they finish up their last bites of chocolate cake. Phil had caught Barton eyeing the cake on the counter when they entered and had ordered the slices despite the archer’s protests about being full.

“Just a day,” Barton shrugs with enough forced nonchalance that Phil knows it’s a lie. 

Phil hums in response, deciding that there’s not much point in pressing the issue if Barton doesn’t want to discuss it. He does, however, make a point of paying the bill. 

“You can get the next one,” Phil says and doesn’t miss how Barton’s eyes light up at the idea of more dinners together outside of SHIELD.

They walk back to HQ in companionable silence and Barton gives Phil a friendly pat on the shoulder before heading towards his quarters. Phil is halfway through his drive home when he realizes that he just met Clint.

 

**2\. The Second Year**

“He doesn’t look so good.”

Phil just keeps himself from rolling his eyes at Hill’s ability to state the obvious. He thinks he hears a snort from Barton's position by the window.

It is supposed to be an easy mission. A simple dinner at a particular restaurant to continue cultivating a cover Phil needs to infiltrate a sex slave ring. Hill is there to monitor the surveillance equipment and Barton to serve as backup should anything go wrong. The problem is that the junior agent who is supposed to be having dinner with Phil got food poisoning and is currently moaning into the toilet.

“It was probably the fish sandwich he had for lunch,” Hill says and Phil honestly can’t keep his eyes from rolling this time. “What now?”

“Barton -” Phil starts to say.

“Already on it, sir,” Barton interrupts. 

When Phil looks over, he sees that the archer has moved away from the window and is ruffling through the wardrobe logistics had sent along for Agent Johnson. Barton is taller and broader than the junior agent, so Phil can only hope that there’s something in the pile of clothing that will work.

“I’m sorry, but -”

“Not to worry, sir,” Barton interrupts again as he stands with a few shirts in hand. “I read the brief. You need to establish your cover being gay and in a relationship or else they’ll make you sample the merchandise. I think I can get one of these shirts to work, but you'll need to loan me a nicer pair of pants.”

Phil goes to his own suitcase to pull out a pair of black suit pants that should work without the jacket. He walks over, but doesn’t hand over the clothing.

“Clint,” Phil says, looking into the archer’s eyes to gauge his discomfort with the situation and sees nothing except calm confidence.

“Seriously, Phil,” Clint says softly. “It’s not a problem. I won’t fuck up your cover.”

“I never doubted that,” Phil responds just as quietly and hands over the pants before raising his voice to its normal volume. “Reservations are in thirty minutes. Your cover name is Will Anderson. You have twenty to get ready and complete an equipment check.”

“Yes, sir,” Barton nods, grabs a small bag out of Johnson’s suitcase, and walks into the adjoining room. 

Phil, already dressed for the evening in his usual suit but with no tie, turns back to Maria for a final check of the cameras a separate team had planted earlier. She has video feeds of both the street and the main dining room of the restaurant. There’s no time to call in a secondary team for backup, so Clint and Phil will have to take care of themselves should something go wrong. 

The two senior agents are going over possible escape routes when Clint walks back into the room. Both Maria and Phil stop speaking mid-sentence.

Clint is now wearing a deep blue dress shirt tucked into Phil’s black slacks. The shirt has been left mostly unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to hide the fact that it is much too small to fit the archer’s broad shoulders and longer arms. The open front of the shirt exposes a shimmery black t-shirt underneath that pulls so tight across Clint’s chest that it’s nearly transparent. He has a studded leather cuff on one wrist, a large watch and another steel link bracelet on the other, and silver rings on three of the fingers on his right hand. Clint has shaved off the goatee he’d been wearing for the past few months and has somehow spiked his hair up to look like it’s not just shy of a military cut. If Phil’s not mistaken, Clint has also smudged some eyeliner around his eyes. The whole package makes Clint look younger and gives him an air of rough vulnerability.

“You look like a hot street kid Phil is trying to reform,” Maria says with a touch of admiration. “It...works.”

“Very well,” Phil adds, once again reminded at how well Clint can read situations and derive the proper course of action. “Better than the arm candy plan we had for Johnson.”

Clint nods and steps closer so that Maria can drop a comm unit into his palm.

“It’s set to relay everything you say directly to me and only me to prevent anyone from intercepting the feed,” Maria explains as Clint places the unit inside his ear. “That also means you won’t be able to talk directly to Coulson if you get separated. Standard verbal protocol if there’s something you need for me to relay to him.”

“Understood. Unit on,” Clint responds with a finger to his ear. “Comm check.”

“Signal coming in clear,” Maria confirms.

“Weapons check,” Phil requests. He doesn’t like going in without backup, but Phil is a master at improvised weaponry and the only person more capable than Hawkeye of concealing weapons is Natasha.

“Three knives, blowgun with 8 darts, standard issue taser in the watch and a small charge Widow’s bite in the cuff,” Clint lists. The archer lets himself smirk when Maria’s eyebrow goes up at the last item. “Nat’s been working with R&D.”

“Time to head out,” Phil says as he walks around the equipment to where Clint is standing.

“Possible surveillance in the hotel?” Clint asks.

“Always a possibility,” Phil answers.

Clint nods, shaking out his shoulders, and suddenly he’s no longer Barton. The change in posture and bearing make it clear that it’s _Will_ who reaches for Phil’s hand with a duck of his head and a shy smile.

“Ready to go when you are, babe,” he says and Phil pointedly ignores Maria’s startled “huh” from behind them.

Phil takes Clint’s hand and leads them out of the room. 

Barton doesn’t break character in the car, looking out the window in awe like he hasn’t spent the past two days casing every street and alley between the hotel and restaurant. Phil wraps an arm around his waist as they walk from the car and into the restaurant, smiling widely at the pleased noise Clint lets out once they’re inside. They are shown to a small booth and Clint immediately presses himself into Phil’s side with an hand on the older man’s thigh.

 _Two guns at the back door, one at the front, and one just inside the kitchen,_ Clint relays through finger taps. Phil hums in acknowledgement, not having seen the man in the kitchen. The man at the front door turns in their direction and Phil drops his hand on top of Clint’s in warning before wrapping his free hand around the back of the archer’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss. 

Clint seemingly melts against Phil, looking pliant and enthusiastic to any outside observers. Phil can’t help wondering if Clint has been training with Natasha outside the sparring mats because he is not aware of the asset ever taking undercover training within SHIELD. It is the only explanation for how good Clint is at creating the appearance of a kiss that’s on the verge of public indecency while maintaining the barest contact between them. 

They break apart when the waiter steps up to their table and clears his throat. Clint startles with an exaggerated jump, pressing his nose into Phil’s shoulder in false embarrassment as the older man smoothly orders their dinner and wine. Phil wraps his arm around Clint’s shoulders, nuzzling his temple and whispering additional information about the slavery ring in the archer’s ear while they wait for their food to arrive. For his part, Clint continues to lean into Phil and fakes breathy giggles to cover up the intel that Phil is providing.

“Head’s up,” Maria warns them toward the end of dinner. “Was Moretti supposed to show tonight?”

“No,” Phil responds as he takes a sip of wine. The intent of the evening was only for Phil to make an appearance at one of Moretti’s restaurants with his boyfriend, not to actually meet with the man running the ring.

Moretti walks into the dining room, meets Phil’s eyes, and nods before moving toward one of the other booths. 

“Looks like he wants to talk,” Phil whispers into Clint’s ear, who turns to press their lips together. 

“Two new guns at the door,” Clint murmurs against Phil’s lips. “Plus the two sitting with Moretti.”

“Four more in the cars in back,” Maria adds over the comm.

“I’m gonna use the restroom,” Phil says loudly, pulling away from Clint. “Maybe you could order us dessert?”

“Ooh, dessert!” Clint responds with a bright smile and looks up at Phil adoringly when he stands. “Hurry back.”

Phil bends to give Clint another kiss before walking to the back and using the restroom. He is not surprised when he’s intercepted on the way back to the table, but Phil's eyes narrow when he sees the largest of Moretti’s guards looming over Clint. Clint has pressed himself back against the booth, eyes darting around nervously until he sees Phil.

 _Everything is okay,_ Phil mouths at Clint. 

Clint's makes his eyes go wide with fear as he looks up at the guard and then back at Phil. He swallows heavily, giving Phil a tremulous smile before turning the smile on the guard. 

"I don't like other people touching my toys," Phil says as he slides into Moretti's booth. He delivers the comment in a bland tone, but the hardness of his eyes leaves no doubt about the true threat behind his words. 

Moretti looks back at Phil and then smiles widely. "Ah! There is some fire at last," he says. "I had been worried about working with someone who showed no passion, but now I see it was just well hidden. Do not worry, Mr. Baker, Bruno will not touch your boy. He will only keep him company while we talk business."

Phil nods and glances at the other table where Clint now looks to be babbling aimlessly at the stoic guard. 

"He's good Phil," Maria assures him over the comm. "Not sure when, but I swear Barton must have memorized the file on Johnson’s cover. He's gonna be fine."

Phil turns back to Moretti, who is suddenly much more open to sharing information with Phil than in previous meetings. The intel they get over the next ten minutes will give SHIELD what they need to take down the ring within the week. 

"Damn he's good," Maria says over the comm, a touch of laughter in her voice, near the end of Phil's conversation with Moretti. "How the hell have we not let Barton do undercover before tonight?"

Phil agrees to meet with the slavery ring's best client in two days and leans back in his seat, throwing a look over his shoulder in curiosity. Bruno has pulled up a chair and been joined by the three other guards from the front door. All of them are looking at Clint fondly, much like you would look at an adorable new puppy. As Phil is watching, a waiter walks over with a slice of tiramisu. There is a small, lit candle stuck through the top and Phil's jaw nearly drops in shock when the four burly men break out in song. 

"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday, little Wi-ill. Happy Birthday to you!"

Moretti laughs and claps along with the rest of the restaurant as Clint blows out the candle. Clint looks up at Phil with a twinkle in his eye and beams. 

 

**3\. The Third Year**

Phil has always disliked being in Medical. No soldier enjoys ending up under medical care, regardless of how much they respect the doctors, nurses, and science that keeps them alive. It isn't until he becomes a handler for SHIELD that Phil learns how much harder it is to be the person left waiting for news, the person who issued the orders that put his assets in Medical or worse. 

Over the last two days of sitting next to Clint's hospital bed, Phil has learned how much he hates Medical. It's surprising really, that considering Clint's tendency for self sacrifice and ability to find trouble, this is the first time he's gotten seriously injured under Phil's watch. It wasn't even his fault. Nobody had expected the building to be so unstable that a small explosion caused by a stray bullet would cause it to collapse with the archer still inside. 

Thankfully, Clint's quick thinking, grappling arrow, and body armor had kept the damage from being worse. The archer has a severe concussion, several cracked ribs, and a fractured tibia in addition to a myriad of cuts and bruises peppered throughout his entire body. Clint has been kept sedated for two days to keep him immobile in case the severe bruising on his back led to any swelling along his spine and to allow the doctors to try out some new healing factor to speed up his recovery. They finally cut back on the heavy sedatives this morning and expect Clint to wake up soon.

Phil sighs and tries to concentrate on the work he's brought with him. He will freely admit that he tends to get attached to the assets under his command. It’s something that isn't recommended in SHIELD's line of work, but Phil refuses to train himself out of caring. He _wants_ for it to matter whether his people are alive and well, to know that Phil has done everything in his power to ensure their safety. He likes to think it's what helps make his teams the best at SHIELD. 

Nothing, however, had prepared Phil for how his heart had nearly stopped in his chest when he'd found a bloody and pale Clint lying among the rubble of the building. 

Clint is special. If Phil is honest with himself, Clint has always held a different and deeper place in Phil's heart compared to the other agents he's worked with. Phil isn't sure why and doesn't think it would matter much if he did. The real question is how deep these feelings really go. Phil isn't sure of that either. He knows he won't act on anything while Clint is still under his direct command - that path laid with too many pitfalls and potential for heartache - but he also knows that whatever he feels isn't fleeting. Phil can only hope that they have the time to get on equal footing and that Clint is willing to wait for them to get there. 

There is no doubt in Phil's mind that Clint, at least in some small part, returns his feelings. He's observant enough and has had plenty of time over the past few days to examine nearly all of their interactions. Now isn't the time for grand declarations, but Phil is confident that with a little steering, it will be soon enough. 

"Phil?" Clint asks groggily from the bed. 

Phil sets his laptop aside and scrambles to stand next to the bed where Clint can see him. A wave of relief washes over him as Clint's eyes open and, after a few blinks, clear into his normal, steady gaze. 

"Good morning," Phil says and helps adjust the bed into a seated position without putting too much pressure on Clint's ribs. 

Clint groans at the movement, but smiles gamely. "What hit me?"

"A medium sized building," Phil answers. "Concussion along with broken ribs and a broken leg."

Clint frowns. "Do they still have me on the heavy meds? Cuz it doesn't...feel all that bad."

"They'll be glad to hear it," Phil tells him. "You played guinea pig to their new healing factor, which hopefully means you'll be up and making escape attempts sooner than you would normally be."

"Gotta love Fury's obsession with all that medical tech," Clint says as several doctors and nurses enter his room. 

Phil moves over to let them check on Clint and one of the doctors turns to speak with him. 

"This examination may take a while, Agent Coulson," she says, which is their way of politely asking him to leave. 

Phil nods and turns back to Clint. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Sure, abandon me to the needles," Clint responds with a smirk, but doesn't resist the medical staff's gentle prodding. "Oh hey! What day is it?"

"Thursday," Phil answers. "Why?"

"Curious how long I was out," Clint responds and looks at the doctor. "No internal damage, right? Am I allowed real food?"

"No reason for you to be on a restricted diet," the doctor says.

"Cool!" Clint smiles and turns back to Phil. "Think you could maybe grab us a couple cheeseburgers from the diner, sir? And a slice of whatever cake they have?"

"Shouldn't be too much trouble," Phil smiles back. "Something you feel like celebrating?" he asks because it's rare for Clint to indulge in sweets. 

"Just glad to be here," Clint shrugs nonchalantly, but the look he gives Phil speaks of something much deeper that he's not willing to say. 

Phil holds Clint’s gaze for another second before a nurse steps between them. He leaves after another pointed look from the doctor and returns a few hours later, as promised, bearing two cheeseburgers and an extra large slice of carrot cake. They eat their cheeseburgers in silence, comfortable enough in each other's space not to feel the need for senseless chatter. 

Everything feels muted and yet stronger, more intimate even with the knowledge that the medical staff were just outside the door. Phil can’t help thinking that this day is a turning point for them. 

"Thank you," Clint says softly and sincerely when Phil hands over the cake. 

"Any time," Phil responds, allowing himself to place a gentle hand over Clint's. "I'm very glad you're here too."

 

**4\. The Fourth Year**

Phil should be exhausted. After Stark and then New Mexico, a Norse god and a giant alien robot, followed immediately by Fury’s urgent meeting on extraterrestrial defense that turned into a two week strategy session, Phil shouldn’t be awake, let alone standing. 

Yet here Phil is, standing in the middle of his office with no clear idea what he’s supposed to do next. There’s a nervous anticipation of _something_ that’s been thrumming through Phil’s veins since Roswell and he knows trying to sleep now would be a futile attempt. 

“Food?” Clint asks, appearing at Phil’s office door from out of nowhere.

“Yes!” Phil replies with relief. “The Thai place should still be open. Grab some beer and meet back at my place?”

“Read my mind,” Clint responds and takes off down the hall with Phil on his heels.

An hour later, with the remains of their dinner scattered on his coffee table, Phil is feeling more content, but still has an incessant nagging in the back of his head.

“Oh hey, here,” Clint says reaching into the grocery bag by his feet. “I got us dessert.”

Phil catches the pack of powdered doughnuts Clint throws as him while the archer opens up his chocolate ones. 

“Here’s to being alive another year,” Clint toasts, holding up a doughnut.

Phil grins and taps his doughnut against Clint’s, not caring how silly it seems or how white powder sprinkles onto the couch and Phil’s slacks. Clint grins back, unapologetic, and stuffs his entire doughnut in his mouth.

“Classy Barton,” Phil teases and lets his mind cast back to where they were a year ago as he takes a bite of his own doughnut.

A year ago had been Clint waking up in Medical lucky to be alive and Phil realizes with sudden clarity what his mind has been trying tell him. Fury had field-promoted Clint to level seven in Roswell, which means that Clint is no longer Phil’s subordinate. It makes official what they have been slowly building toward this past year - Clint and Phil are on equal footing. They are here, together, for no other reason than because they want to be.

“Phil? Are you okay?” Clint asks with concern, making Phil conscious of the fact that he’s starting at Clint with a doughnut halfway to his mouth. 

Phil puts the rest of his doughnut down on the table, angles himself more toward Clint, and then has no idea what to say. How can he convey a year of hope and longing into something as simple as words? Phil has always been confident that Clint returned his feelings and yet now, on the precipice of finally getting everything he’s wished for, the fear of rejection looms large and forbidding in Phil’s mind. The words dry up in his throat.

“Phil?” Clint asks again, laying a gentle hand over where Phil’s sit on his lap.

“Have dinner with me,” Phil blurts out.

Clint looks at the empty cartons on the table and then back at Phil, concern deepening in his eyes.

“Not tonight,” Phil clarifies. “Tomorrow and the next night and...”

He trails off, thinking that it’s probably too early to ask for forever, but then a smile slowly creeps over Clint’s face and all doubts leave Phil’s mind. Clint is his and Phil is Clint’s - a fact that has been true for quite some time, despite how long it’s taken them to get here. 

“Yes,” Clint replies simply and leans forward to kiss Phil.

Clint’s lips against his feel both familiar and achingly new. They’ve kissed on countless ops since the first one with Moretti, but never as themselves. Never with this much between them. Everything narrows down to Clint’s lips warm and inviting against his own, the archer’s hand a strong and necessary anchor as it reaches up and settles on the back of Phil’s neck. Phil wraps his arms around Clint and never wants to let go.

“Best day ever,” Clint murmurs as Phil pushes him deeper against the couch cushions.

Phil can’t agree more.

 

**5\. The Fifth Year**

Phil wakes up. Everything in his mind is stuffed with cotton, but there’s a niggling thought in the back of Phil’s mind that this shouldn’t be happening at all.

His eyelids are heavy and he fights against the sedation to open them, disappointed when he sees nothing more than the blurry outline of the overhead lights. Phil loses the struggle to keep his eyes open and settles for letting his other senses slowly permeate through the drug-dulled fog in his brain. 

Phil can hear the regular beeping of the heart monitor and the steady woosh of the oxygen machine, his inability to move and lack of pain tells him that he's on some pretty heavy medication. He can feel the weight of the various tubes and wires laid across his chest and the breathing tube down his throat is hard to ignore. Whatever injury Phil has sustained must have been severe and, for now, the cause is lost to the nothingness currently residing in his memory. 

Phil lays still and waits. Despite the complete lack of information, he is confident that Clint will be here soon and then everything will be all right again. 

There is a sudden commotion outside his room and the noise is enough to force his eyes open. Phil can’t move his head, but if he turns his eyes to the very edge of his vision, he thinks he can just see a familiar outline at the door - Clint. Phil can’t make out the other person with him.

"What do you want from me, Hill?" Clint says and no amount of drugs can keep Phil from noticing there is something very, very wrong with Clint's voice. It sounds broken in a way that Phil never wants to hear again. "What is that? A cupcake?"

"Don't say I never gave you anything," Maria responds. 

There's a dull thud as Maria shoves Clint through the door, followed by stumbling footsteps into the room - Phil doesn’t remember Clint ever stumbling before - and then silence. Phil can’t see where Clint is standing, but the archer’s breathing is ragged and too fast, loud in the quiet stillness of the room. For several moments, there is nothing but the sound of Clint’s harsh breaths to accompany the beeps and swooshes of the machines. 

Phil hears the splat of something hitting the floor and then Clint lets out a strangled sob that sends a spike of fear through Phil. Clint finally steps up to the bed where Phil can see him, his clear blue eyes rimmed with red, but filled with unending happiness as he looks down at Phil. 

"Oh my god, Phil," Clint says, voice cracking. “You’re alive. This is the best...I can never wish for anything ever again.”

Phil doesn’t understand. Why would Clint think he wasn’t alive? Phil wants to know what’s wrong. He wants to hurt whomever caused Clint this much pain.

There must be enough of what Phil is thinking conveyed in his eyes because Clint runs a soothing hand over Phil’s hair and shushes him.

“Calm down. There’s nothing that can’t wait until you’re better,” Clint soothes. “I’m back and you’re here and nothing else matters but you getting better.”

Something in Clint’s words compels memories to float to the surface, but the comforting touch of Clint’s fingers and the pull of the medication keeps them at bay while Phil’s eyelids begin to grow heavy once again.

“It’s okay to sleep, Phil,” Clint assures him. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Always.”

Phil lets his eyes close and he feels the gentle brush of Clint’s lips against his forehead as he slips once more into oblivion.

 

**+1. The Sixth Year**

Clint is trying hard not to resent Phil’s new team. He knows it’s the best thing for SHIELD and for Phil. Putting together and overseeing successful teams is what Phil does best. It’s not that Phil no longer needs Clint and Natasha, it’s that he needs to bring up the next generation of agents. 

Clint understands this. He does.

It doesn’t make it easier for Clint to know that he's not there to watch over Phil, especially after everything that happened after Loki. He just has to be happy that Phil agreed to Clint's suggestion that he pull Agent May back into the field. Clint can trust her to have Phil's back until the younger agents learn to do it themselves. 

Clint also understands that it's not fair to blame Phil's new team for their extended time apart. With Clint splitting his time between his SHIELD duties and the Avengers, he is just as guilty for their schedules rarely lining up. He still misses it - the quiet dinners, easy conversations as they lounge on the couch, and falling asleep with Phil's steady, miraculous heartbeat beneath Clint's ear. 

It's a busy time for them both and Clint knows they'll manage through it. They always do. But that knowledge doesn't make it any less difficult, especially on days like today when Clint is tired enough to let himself feel morose and more than a bit lonely. 

Clint is just getting back from an easy op - he may no longer be able to work undercover, but snipers aren't meant to be seen anyway - and waves off the others' suggestions at dinner when he stops on the communal floor. As much as he enjoys spending time with the other Avengers, Clint knows that even the team's company will only succeed in making him feel lonelier. There's only one person whose company Clint seeks right now and Phil isn't scheduled to be back for another week.

The other Avengers thankfully don't try and stop him as Clint walks across to the other bank of elevators. He lets out a sigh once he's in the relative privacy of the car, glad that Phil had agreed to move into the Tower from their apartment, so at least Clint will have the familiar comfort of Phil's old couch to mope on. 

When the elevator doors open, Clint is not expecting to find Phil sitting on the couch with a small cake, complete with a burning candle at its center, on the coffee table in front of him. 

"Hey," Phil greets and walks across to Clint for a kiss that the archer returns enthusiastically. 

"Phil? What - why are you home?" Clint asks as he lets Phil pull him back towards the couch. He takes note of how the senior agent is moving, but sees nothing obvious. "You're not hurt."

"No injuries, I promise," Phil swears and gently pushes Clint until he takes a seat before settling on the couch himself. "I didn't want you spending your birthday on your own and, since you never bothered to tell me all these years what we'd been celebrating, I was pretty sure you wouldn't tell the others."

Clint frowns and tries to remember the last time he checked the date. "It's my...I'd forgotten," he admits. 

"Or that," Phil says with a fond smile. "Blow out your candle."

"Wait. You...you aren't scheduled back for another week," Clint continues to protest. 

"Sitwell agreed to cover for me. I think he's got a crush on Agent May," Phil replies. 

"What, really?" Clint says with surprise and then shakes his head to keep himself on track. "No. I mean, awesome for Jasper, but why? You hate bowing out on ops."

"True," Phil agrees. "But it's also true that I love you and you're much more important than any op."

Clint has to close his eyes against the surge of emotion behind Phil's eyes and his words. "Phil..."

Phil frames Clint's face with gentle hands and pulls him in for a kiss. For all the loneliness and love Clint pours into the kiss, Phil gives it right back. 

"I love you," Clint says when they break apart, not trusting any other words to convey what this moment and Phil means to him. 

"I love you, too," Phil replies. He gives Clint a quick kiss on the lips and nods toward the cake. "Blow out your candle before it goes out."

Clint grins, bending over the table to blow out the single candle. He can't resist taking a swipe of chocolate from the top of the cake and then licking it suggestively off his finger, making Phil chuckle fondly. Phil leans forward to sample the chocolate directly from Clint's lips. 

"Did you make a wish?" Phil asks as he pulls Clint closer, his hands sneaking under the archer's shirt. 

Clint presses against Phil until they're both laying along the length of the couch and shakes his head. "No more wishes. I have everything I could ever need right here."

Phil looks up at Clint with love and awe shining from his eyes and Clint can only hope his own are answering back. 

"Happy Birthday Clint."

_fin_


End file.
